


Some Life Experience

by everlovingdeer



Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [183]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Minor Angst, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Writers, or so thought
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlovingdeer/pseuds/everlovingdeer
Summary: “You’re freaking out, aren’t you Abbasi?”“I might be,” I admitted reluctantly.“It makes sense,” he assured me, sounding so reasonable that I almost questioned if he really was Zacharias. “You - the virgin have no experience with romance and so you have no idea how to write it.”“Exactly.” My sigh slipped free between my lips as I spied the waitress approaching with our food. “Now you see the issue.”“The answer’s simple.” At my disbelieving look, Zacharias insisted, “We just need to get you some life experience.”
Relationships: Zacharias Smith/Original Female Character(s), Zacharias Smith/Reader
Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [183]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461751
Comments: 6
Kudos: 88





	1. Some Life Experience

In the few letters I received from fans - and my having fans was something I was still adjusting to - they often asked me how I was inspired and how inspiration struck me. In every few responses I penned, I mentioned that inspiration was a fickle creature that I chased by placing myself out of my routine, whether that was by going for a walk or even getting lunch outside. I lied. Each answer was a lie because no reader wanted to know that I stayed trapped inside my own home, spending fruitless hours at my desk and _waiting_ for inspiration to approach me. The truthful answer simply wasn’t motivating so I kept it to myself.

My readers didn’t need to know that inspiration was fleeting and sudden and that I could do nothing to trigger it. They certainly didn’t need to know that when inspiration _did_ strike, there were just those days - and sometimes weeks and even months - where I struggled to write anything. Writer’s block was very real and it was a regular affliction I faced. 

It was an affliction I was currently battling through. 

Leaning back in my chair, I rolled my neck to try and ease the strain that appeared after having spent hours bent over my desk. Closing my tired eyes, I squeezed them shut before glancing at the time. Five hours I had been sitting here - well, I’d gotten up multiple times to fix myself something to drink or eat or to use the bathroom. But I’d battled for hours to try and get a decent page written, hoping that when I reached the end of the page I would be inspired enough to continue. 

It had been a fickle hope. When I did reach the end of the page it was littered with scratch throughs and scribbles and it was _horrible._ I’d go so far as to claim that it was the worst thing I’d ever written. Sighing, I sat up straight and grabbed the single page - my entire day’s work. Scrunching it into a tight ball, I contemplated chucking it straight in the bin. But it didn’t even deserve being relegated to the bin where, if I changed my mind, I’d fish out parchment in search of an idea I’d previously abandoned. It didn’t deserve the privilege. 

Clearing my desk, I fished out my wand from the drawer I’d shoved it into at the beginning of my writing process, I set the parchment aflame. I watched all my day’s efforts crumble into ash and cleaned it away with a murmured spell. I was saved from having to reach for another piece of parchment by a gentle tapping on my window. 

Pushing my chair away from my desk, I used my feet to push me back on the wheels of my chair until I reached the window. Stretching upwards and not even bothering to lift my bum from the seat, I opened the latch. The owl, one I instantly recognised and dreaded the sight of, hopped inside. It perched on the window, cleaning its feathers as I took the letter that I knew was from my publisher. Salazar, I was dreading reading it already. 

Knowing that I wasn’t going to respond to the letter today, I dismissed the owl and shut the window. Wheeling myself back to my desk, I broke the seal on the back of the letter. My eyes skimmed over it quickly; it was just as I’d thought. My publisher wanted a tentative date for the publication of my next book which - according to feedback - should include more outright romantic scenes. Apparently, readers weren’t too happy with the romance simply being a thing that occurred in the hidden scenes. Setting the letter aside, I groaned and knew that I needed some caffeine before I could contemplate this newest stumbling block that was just another unneeded hurdle. This book was already hard enough to write. 

Finally standing from the chair, I took a few paces back and forth to circulate the blood back around my body and then I finally left my office. Shutting the door behind me, I headed towards the kitchen and my path took me passed the fireplace which switched on. Abandoning my path to the kitchen, I turned towards the fireplace with wide eyes, knowing that I looked like a deer caught in headlights. Still, it was only when I saw Zacharias step out into the living room that I straightened out my expression. It was only Zach. 

Zach who stood in front of my fireplace, being completely unsubtle in his appraisal of me. His eyes looked me over from head to toe, taking in my lazy clothes and my hair that had been piled at the base of my neck to keep it out of the way. Finally meeting my eyes and seeing my arched eyebrow, he gave me a sardonic eyebrow. 

“No.” The word left his mouth instantly as he approached me. Instantly my hands were up defensively, planning to keep him away because i just _knew_ he wouldn’t let me get any work done. Still, he came around behind me, taking me by the shoulders, “We are _not_ doing this today.”

“There is no _we_ about this,” I protested determinedly, resisting with everything in me when Zacharias pushed with all his might to direct me in the direction of my room. It was only because my legs were beginning to strain from pushing against him that I eventually conceded, letting him walk me towards my room. 

Finally reaching the door to my bedroom, Zach opened it with one hand and used the other to push me inside. I stumbled on my feet, catching myself and glaring at him. “You’re going to get dressed because I’m taking you out for food.”

“No. I have work to do.”

“Oh, who are you kidding? We both know you’re fighting against and losing to writer’s block.” He shut the door on me, only to open it a second later. “Just let me feed a starving artist.”

I made a face that he saw but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he gestured for me to get a move on before shutting the door once more. For a moment, I contemplated being stubborn and refusing but I knew Zacharias and I knew that he was likely waiting against my bedroom door. The bastard was probably counting down from ten minutes in his head, preparing to burst back into here to force me to comply.

Sighing and a little frightened that he’d walk in whilst I was changing, I got dressed and stood in front of my mirror. Tying my hair out of my face again, I scrutinised my reaction long enough to realise that my lack of outside time had made my skin lose its usual warmth. 

“Abbasi?” Zacharias called out through the door, knocking on it. Perhaps I’d been wrong - maybe he was more mature than I gave him credit for. “This is your five-second warning, I’m coming in, regardless of the state you're in.”

Well - I certainly hadn’t been wrong the first time. 

When Zacharias did enter the room, after a few minutes had passed, he looked me over again and nodded his approval. “Now you look like a human being.”

“I hope you know that you’re an asshole.”

“You’ve called me that so often that I’m contemplating getting it tattooed somewhere on me.” 

Scoffing, I said nothing but came to his side. I grabbed my bag on my way out of the room, checking that I had my wand and wallet and then we were off. Zacharias led the way, bringing us to the usual place we went to whenever he needed to rescue me from becoming a recluse. It was a quaint cafe on the corner of my road, that wasn’t usually too busy. It had just the right amount of customers and just the right level of bustling sound to be relaxing. 

Neither of us needed to look at the menu as we snagged our usual seat in front of the bay window. Before I could even put my bag down to save our space, Zacharias headed to the counter and put in our usual orders and paid, ignoring my protests from behind him. He tucked the receipt into his wallet as he walked back to our table. 

“Like I said, let me feed the starving artist.” Taking his seat across from me, Zacharias stretched his legs in front of him, crossing one over the over and paying no heed to the way I shot him an annoyed look when his posture had his shoe resting against my calf. He just smiled, rocking his feet so that his shoe tapped my leg a few times. 

I tried to scowl, to think of something to say, but he was looking at me like that again like he could read my mind. Averting my eyes to the table, I watched my hands as I drummed my fingers against the table in a made-up rhythm.

“Go on,” he prompted with yet another part of his shoe against me, “what’s the issue this time?”

“The publishers want more romance,” I summarised, not in the mood to give him all the details. They’d likely bore him anyway.

“Ah.” He straightened up, propping his cropped arms on the tabletop and drawing his legs back towards him. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you Abbasi?”

“I might be,” I admitted reluctantly.

“It makes sense,” he assured me, sounding so reasonable that I almost questioned if he really was Zacharias. “You - the virgin have no experience with romance and so you have no idea how to write it.”

“Exactly.” My sigh slipped free between my lips as I spied the waitress approaching with our food. “Now you see the issue.”

“The answer’s simple.” At my disbelieving look, Zacharias insisted, “We just need to get you some life experience.”

Rolling my eyes, I didn’t bother dignifying his suggestion with an answer. I just settled for kicking him under the table before turning to smile and thank the waitress as she set our food in front of us. All the while, Zacharias leaned down to rub his shin and murmured about aggressive snakes. 

* * *

I was trying my best. I was honestly trying my best to write the sorts of scenes that my publishers and my readers wanted to see more of. But it was _so hard._ In principle, it was easy, I knew the emotions behind loving someone, I knew the way someone’s heart pounded out of their chest when they have a crush on someone. I just struggled with the ways that a relationship progressed. The situations that came into my mind were all too synthetic, too fake - they didn’t settle well within the story. Salazar’s soul, this was the reason why all the relationships featured in my previous books were in the background and were implied through vague scenes. There was no big first kiss or even a small first kiss. 

“Merlin, maybe Zach has a point,” I grumbled under my breath, considering the first draft of my couple’s first meeting. It fell flat … too flat. Presented with my failure, I couldn’t help but wonder if Zacharias was right and that my lack of experience was coming through in my writing. Sighing, I set the parchment down and rubbed at my tired eyes. “Clearly I’ve gone mad - not only am I admitting that Zacharias is _right_ about something, but I’m talking to myself.”

Pushing away from my desk, I raised my legs so I moved further into the middle of the room. Planting my feet firmly, I spun round and round, hoping it would do something, that it would inspire something. I knew it wouldn’t do anything, but I was willing to waste the time. 

“Abbasi?” the unwelcome call of my surname from an unwelcome voice had me groaning aloud. The very last thing I needed was for Zach to turn up and disturb my unproductive day. 

Still, I rolled the rest of the way to the door and opened it. Zacharias’s wandering would eventually bring him past my office and he’d spy me. I could hear his footsteps against the wooden floorboards as they drew nearer. Rolling back to my desk, I picked up the parchment, checking the door to find that Zacharias had arrived and stood in the doorway. He knew he wasn’t allowed into my study. 

But, when I raised my hand and gestured him in, he took the first step in. Zach, likely knowing from my microexpressions that today was _not_ a good day for him to pick a fight regarding the state I was currently in or even the state of the room, he accepted the outstretched parchment without a single word. Absentmindedly, he set the box he’d carried in with him on the desktop. Perching on my desk, Zacharias crossed his legs at the ankles and set about reading. I monitored his face, making note of his expression before he could even attempt to censor them. 

Although I already know it, it did _not_ look good. More so when he folded the parchment in half and set it down beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest and _still_ said nothing. The fact that he had yet to say a word was all the commentary I needed. When he wasn’t looking, that parchment was being relegated to the bin. 

I held his eyes when Zacharias turned to look at me; I wondered if his eyes lingered on my downturned mouth. Clearing his throat, he lifted the box he’d set aside and leaned forward to put it in my lap. When I cradled it curiously in my arms, he explained, “Mum made a cake - especially for you.”

Despite already knowing what it was, I lifted the top off the box. My frown was instantly wiped away, replaced with a wide smile. “Red velvet, my favourite.”

“She said why bother making you anything apart from your favourite.” He shrugged his shoulder, leaning forward as if to swipe some of the frosting off. I was quick to replace the lid, beating his greedy fingers. “Not that she ever makes me _my_ favourite.”

I was quick to defend his mother, “You're too finicky to have a favourite anything.” 

“I have a favourite person,” he declared. And before I could even ask - not that I would have - he pointed to me. “You.”

Surprised and touched, I swallowed down any words of gratitude. Instead, I batted his finger away, “You’re too old to be pointing at people. You know it’s rude.” 

“So like you to comment on the _pointing_.” He shook his head with an incredulous chuckle.

“Make sure you thank your mother for me. Why don’t we put the kettle on and we can have some cake?”

“No.” Zacharias gave me a look, daring me to protest, “You need to go and have a shower.”

I made a face but complied anyway. Giving Zacharias the cake box, I rose from my chair. Making sure that I’d safely put away all my writings, I left Zacharias alone to shower. He’d been here often enough to know where everything was, he didn’t need me to help him with anything. After showering, I dried my hair with a murmured spell and walked into the kitchen where I found Zacharias tending to a saucepan on the stove. From the smell alone, I knew he’d made us some chai. 

Pouring the chai into two teacups, Zacharias cut us two slices of cake as I took a seat at the sofa. Zacharias followed me, the tea tray levitating after him. Accepting the chai, I took a small sip and savoured the taste. Sliding the saucer with my cake towards me, Zach paid close attention to my face. 

“How is it?” he finally asked when I said nothing and broke off a forkful of cake. 

Mouth full, I answered, “Much better than your previous attempts. It’s good.”

“I’m glad.” When Zacharias finally dug into his own cake, sitting down next to me. I took the time to stir some more sugar into his chai, knowing he’d put enough sugar in to match my preference and not his own. He offered me a grateful smile, only to consider me a moment later. “So, when are we going to go on a date then?” 

Rolling my eyes and knowing that I should’ve seen it coming, I tried to kick at him with my feet. Without exerting any obvious effort, he caught my ankle, pushing it aside. He didn’t react with the lightheartedness I expected him to. Rather, he held my eyes and the look in them had my smile fading. This whole experience malarky hadn’t been a throwing joke then. He actually intended to help me in his strange way.

“We already talked about this,” he reminded me.

“You knew I thought you were joking.” I pointed my fork accusingly in his direction. 

“Hey, I’m the one offering to help you with _your_ book.” He leaned convincingly towards me even as he shrugged. “You’re still struggling - how many times can you rewrite the same scene? I didn’t say anything before, but after reading that scene, you’re going to need some serious help, Abbasi.” 

I rolled my lower lip into my mouth, actually seriously contemplating his offer. There were only so many different ways I could write a romance scene with no experience to work off of. I really didn’t want the quality of my work to suffer because of my pride. Watching Zach from beneath my lashes, I knew I didn’t have to say anything. He could read it all from my expression alone.

“I’ll pick you up on Saturday, 5 pm,” he declared, not even bothering to ask if that time suited me. “Make sure you put some effort into dressing pretty. It’ll take you a couple of hours.” 

He had the experience to shuffle away far enough to avoid the kick I tried to send his way. 

* * *

The closer the arranged time of our ‘date’ arrived, the more anxious I became. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d written a letter, backing out and had _almost_ sent it to Zacharias. It was only the sound of Zacharias’s voice in my head, snarking that I was clearly backing out because I was worried I’d actually fall for him, that stopped me from actually sending them off. And now, I remained sitting in my front room and staring at the clock. I’d been ready for almost ten minutes now and ten minutes more remained until he was supposed to get here. But, part of me hoped he’d get here late. If he got here late then I could always use that as an excuse to turn him away. Salazar, I really was willing to use any excuse to get out of this. 

But, to my annoyance, Zach arrived at 5 on the dot. Not that he used the floo like I’d expected him to. No, just as the clock reached 5, there was a knock on my front door. Surprised and wondering why he was doing things out of the norm, I left my handbag on the sofa and answered the door. I wasn’t surprised to find Zach on the other side. Although, I _was_ shocked to see that he’d taken it upon himself to put more effort into the way he was dressed today. I was fairly certain I’d seen him put this much effort into the real dates he went on very rarely. 

Even when I opened the door and stepped aside to let him in, he remained on the doorstep, rocking back on his heels with a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi?” I repeated dubiously, eyeing him suspiciously. Part of me expected him to trick me in some way. Holding onto the door handle, I wondered aloud, “Why are you being so weird, Smith? What’s with the front door, why didn’t you just floo in?”

“You’re so clueless,” he said with a scoff, _finally_ seeming like himself. He watched as I summoned my coat and handbag to my side. “No date is going to floo into your home, Abbasi. Now, are you ready?” 

“I think so.” I glanced back into my apartment, doing a quick scan to see if anything was amiss. Seeing nothing wrong, I turned expectantly towards the Hufflepuff who stood, back straight, on my doorstep. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He held out his hand for mine and I slipped it into his, letting him help me over the threshold of my home. 

Dropping his hand, I turned to lock my front door. When I turned back to him, Zacharias let out a low whistle, looking me over exaggeratedly as I hefted my handbag off to him. Putting my coat on, I removed my hair so it was no longer trapped on the inside, “What’s with the whistling? I’m not a dog you know.”

“Well, you certainly don’t look like one.” Handing my bag back to me, Zacharias spoke through his chuckles, “You clean up well Abbasi. I can see why Wayne got a permanent hard-on whenever you were near.”

He laughed raucously at my horrified expression, struggling to quieten his amusement when I reached out to swat his arm. Catching my hand as it sailed through the air towards him, he tucked it into the crook of his arm and set about escorting me outside. Zacharias made small talk as we walked, approaching the riverside and I found myself returning the small talk. Even though I wanted to, I made no comment on how weird it was for him to be discussing something like the weather with me - like we hadn’t graduated from such mundane topics within the first week of knowing each other. I wanted to tease him that this was the sort of talk people made when they were nervous, but I didn’t. He had no need to be nervous and I certainly didn’t need him to turn the comment around onto me by suggesting that _I_ was nervous. Because Salazar knew, I really was nervous. 

We walked the short distance towards the riverside restaurant and I could tell, just from experience, would be packed at this time of the day. I almost tugged on Zach’s arm, preparing to steer him away to remind him that we would never get a table here. But, he acted before I could do a thing, walking into the restaurant and greeting the hostess before announcing that he’d made a reservation. When the woman turned away to gather some menus, Zach turned to me with a knowing look, as if he knew that I’d never expected for him to make a reservation. 

“Don’t go falling for me already,” he warned teasingly, voice lowered to a whisper. 

“Be quiet,” I hissed, removing my hand from his elbow and pinching him in the side. He made a sound of pain, shooting me a glare which I returned with a beaming smile just in time for the hostess to return so she could guide us to our table. 

Walking into the restaurant, I gave Zacharias my hand when he held his silently out for me. I let him lead me through the room, towards a table near the back. When we reached our table, I thanked the hostess, preparing to take my seat and startling when I found Zach already there, pulling my seat out for me. Eyeing him strangely, I took the proferred seat and settled down, thanking him quietly. Walking around the table, Zach took his own seat across from me. 

“What are you doing?” Zacharias asked incredulously when, instead of reaching for the menu, I drew a notebook he was _very_ familiar with from my bag. It was the notebook where I wrote down anything I thought would help me with my stories and because this _was_ supposed to be helping me with aspects of my story, it made sense it came along. “No - no, you don’t.”

Before I could attempt to withdraw my quill from inside my bag, he caught my notebook, bringing it to his side of the table. Just as I went to protest, he gave me such a firm look that I said nothing, even if I did frown a little. Holding my hand out for the book and promising that it wouldn’t come out for the rest of the night, I tucked it away when he gave it back to me. Hanging my bag on the back of my chair, I finally picked up the menu.

After we had placed our orders and handed back the menus to our waiter, Zacharias reached out to take my hands in his. Surprised, but not finding it strange, I just rubbed glanced curiously at him when his fingers rubbed back and forth over my knuckles.

“What’s gotten into you, Smith?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged his shoulders before asking, “Any progress on the book?”

“You don’t want to hear about it,” I insisted.

“I do.” When I continued to look at him dubiously, he nodded, “Go on, tell me.”

So I did. And before I realised it, I was offloading the complaints I had onto Zacharias, complaints I hadn’t said to anyone, not even Mum because I didn’t want her to worry due to my own lack of confidence. I even confessed to him the hidden whispers from my mind - that I was considering changing publishers. 

Halfway through our conversation, our food arrived and I was quick to withdraw my hands from Zacharias’s. It was only when my hands settled in my lap I realised that it was the steady warmth of his hands over mine and the reassuring swiping of his thumb back and forth that had me so easily confessing my burdens to Zacharias. Although, when it came to Zacharias, I’d always found myself saying perhaps more than I should have. 

“Enough talk about my work,” I said with a smile, taking a sip from my glass, “what about _your_ work? Any pressing stories coming up in next week’s issue?” 

“Trying to get the inside scoop, Abbasi, shame on you,” he teased before proceeding to tell me what he could. I listened to his every word and time flew, like it always did around him. 

Before I realised it, it was time to head home and we were once more walking the short distance towards my home. This time at least, the walk wasn’t filled with small talk. It was less stilted and less strange and we just seemed like us. It was something I’d noticed throughout the night - the best parts were when neither of us were pretending to be something more than we were. It was just better when we were ourselves. 

Finally reaching my doorstep, I unlocked my front door, pushing it open slightly. I turned back to Zacharias who continued to stand there, seemingly waiting for something. And just like that, I was nervous once more. This - this had never happened. Whenever we parted for the night, there was never this lull and this awkwardness. Merlin, we never even needed to say goodnight, most of the time. We could just separate and it would be fine. For some reason, just leaving him there didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Not tonight.

So, tightening my hand on the doorknob, I considered Zacharias. It was strange, but I said softly, “Goodnight.” 

Once more, I turned quickly, preparing to duck inside. But he was quicker. Reaching out to grasp my arm, Zach had me turning back towards him. He said nothing, even as he drew me closer to him, simply searching my face. Did he have to do any searching at all to read the apprehension I _knew_ I was wearing? I swallowed nervously, peering up into his face when I found myself standing closer to him than I was certain I’d ever been. 

“You know,” he started, voice lowered into the sort of murmur that had me wanting to shuffle slightly on my feet, “if this was a real date, I’d kiss you.”

Without giving me the chance to come up with some sort of response, not that I was sure I could say anything given the way my tongue felt like it was glued in place, he abruptly released my arm. I didn’t move - I couldn’t, and Zach was the one to step back and away from me. He gestured with one hand for me to head inside and it was enough to snap me out of whatever muggy headed daze I’d found myself in. 

Standing in the open doorway, I looked out at Zach who held my eyes and offered me a smile. It wasn’t his usual smile, it was softer and maybe even a little resigned but he raised his hand nonetheless, waving at me and finally walking away. I waited just until he disappeared from sight and shut the door, locking it behind me. 

… tonight had been going so well. It had been _perfect_ and yet, it was all ruined now. All ruined by the butterflies fluttering around my stomach - the ones I’d only ever written about. How could I - for _Zacharias_ and …

I moved quickly before I forgot this feeling. Rushing into my study, I took the notebook from my bag and settled at my desk. I wrote quickly, wanting to write everything down before I forgot this feeling. All panicking about Zacharias being the one to prompt these feeling would have to be relegated for now. 

* * *

Inspiration was a fickle mistress and I knew this with such clarity that when she came knocking on the door, I was quick to answer. That was why when following on from my ‘date’ with Zacharias I found myself suddenly overflowing with ideas for my story, I doubled down and got to work. I spent hours on end in my study with multiple papers scattered around me as I gave the plot and my characters some major revamping. There would be a lot of changes, but I was certain it would make my story stronger so I didn’t complain. Rather, I was grateful for this new sudden insight I had. For the first time since - well since ever, writing romance and writing a relationship seemed easier. I didn’t want to claim it was easy too soon, but I was definitely struggling less. 

Right now, I was working on fleshing out my male character, on trying to make him something more than a blank character who would have no appeal to anyone, let alone to my readers. Now that I had some semblance of the role he’d play in progressing the story along, and into the sort of relationship I wanted to portray, it came easier. Slowly, piece by piece, he was coming together in my head with both his appearance and his personality taking form. And the longer I worked at him, the more ideas popped into my head for the story. 

On the mind map that I was constructing solely for the main male character, I jotted down yet another character detail I wanted to give him. Then, before I could forget the scene idea that popped into my head, I used my legs to roll my chair to the other side of the room. Standing from my chair, I approached one of the pieces of parchment that I’d stuck to the wall with a sticking charm. It was a concise list where I compiled the scenes that I was considering including in the book. 

Adding another bullet point to the bottom of the list, I wrote down the scene idea and was about to write down a piece of dialogue that had popped into my head for the still-unnamed male character to say. It was perfect for the personality I wanted to give him, it would be the perfect sort of snarky comment to alleviate the tension of the high-stress situation, and just as I went to write it, I stilled. In my head, word for word, reciting the quote was Zacharias’s voice. He’d never said that sentence and yet I could _hear_ him saying it.

Horrified, I drew back from the list and turned towards my desk where the male character’s mind map remained. Slowly pushing my chair back to the desk, I dropped myself into it with a heavy sigh. Pulling the mind map towards me, I looked over the entire map and piece by piece the puzzle fit into a _different_ image. Zacharias - I’d modelled him one hundred per cent after Zacharias. 

I needed to fix this - _now._

Reaching for a fresh piece of parchment, I pushed the old mind map to the side and proceeded to create a new one. With frequent glances towards the old one, I struggled to decide which pieces of my character I wanted to keep and which to get rid of. It took a long time as I struggled to decide which parts could be changed, with even the slightest changes making the character seem wrong. Just the thought of changing his hair from blond to a darker brown felt like I’d put the character in a mask, like I was forcing him to be someone else. But I would force it even more. 

In the end, I settled for changing his outer appearance - giving him the dark hair and dark eyes that Zacharias lacked and switching out his lean frame for a stockier one. His outer appearance had shifted and yet, the personality stuck. He remained snarky and sarcastic - an arsehole with a heart of gold even, and I couldn’t shift it. I felt like changing that as well would be too great of a difference. If I changed his personality as well, I wasn’t certain I’d even want to write for him anymore. He’d be someone different altogether.

Very mildly satisfied, I stood from my seat and looked down at the two mind maps, resting side by side on my desk. I considered them together, comparing them and feeling more compelled by the first. Merlin, I didn’t even want to consider _why_ I was more drawn to the first, but I was. Sighing deeply through my nose, I picked up my original mindmap and scrunched it into a tight ball before I could second guess myself. It was too late, I already regretted it. But I refused to change my mind. 

Dropping the scrunched up ball into the overflowing bin, I reasoned with myself that at least I hadn’t set it on fire. Now left with my newly updated male character, I struggled once more. Looking down at his map, I really did _not_ want to work on it anymore. My inspiration and my will to work on it had fled. 

Lifting my arms over my head, I stretched out my back before dropping them abruptly back to my side. Maybe what I needed was a bit of a break. I hadn’t left my study in a couple of hours. 

Walking into the kitchen, I made myself a mug of tea and some toast. Sitting at the island, I picked at my toast and couldn’t help the way my thoughts strayed to where they shouldn’t have. My original character was calling to me again and the updated version of him really wasn’t appealing to me at all. And I knew _exactly_ why that was the case. As much as I wanted to plead obliviousness, there were just some things you had to be honest with yourself about. This was one of those cases. 

Salazar’s soul, agreeing to go on that date with Zacharias might have been the single most stupid thing I’d done since leaving Hogwarts. There was nothing else to be done. Hopping off from my stool, I brought my tea and toast with me to my study. Pushing everything aside, I reached for parchment and started writing to Zacharias. It was best to keep it simple, to offer little reasons or excuses. The simpler it was, the more likely he was to buy it. 

* * *

My surprise and shock at having created a character that resembled Zacharias were so extreme that for a moment, I actually forgot that Zacharias was not the sort to take well to being dismissed with a letter. I should have known better, even whilst I was writing the letter, I should have known that it wouldn’t work and yet, it didn’t occur to me. It only clicked when, the very next day, as I sat in the front room for a change of scenery whilst reading through the tentative plan I had of the storyline, he emerged from my floo.

The quill I’d been using to make amendments in the margins, halted at the sound of the floo switching on. Peeking around the edge of the parchment, my eyes widened upon spying Zach who walked determinedly into the room. I knew from the way he held himself alone that he’d come here anticipating a squabble of some sort. Averting my eyes before he could even look at me, I used the parchment to hide my face. Closing my eyes and groaning silently, I wondered how I could be so stupid. I’d never even thought he’d come here - and that had been an oversight on my part. I’d let my own feelings cloud my judgement and this was the outcome of it all. 

I pretended to keep reading, knowing Zacharias would eventually make his move and when he did, there would be nothing I could do to stop him. Sure enough, he crossed the short distance between us and took a seat next to me on the sofa. The sofa cushions shifted under his weight and I knew, even without looking at him, that he’d shifted so he sat facing me. Resolutely, I refused to look at him. 

It was more characteristic of Zach to make a sly comment, but he didn’t. He just reached out, plucking my parchment from my hands and folding it in half. Ignoring my incredulous look, Zach leaned forward to put the parchment on the table and then reclined once more. He sat, one arm outstretched along the back of the sofa, and his body turned towards my own. I made no move to look towards him. 

I knew it probably looked strange for me to continue sitting, facing forward and looking at him from the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t bring myself to act even a little bit normally. Not when my mind was busy clocking all the similarities between him and the version of my character I wanted to write. I was struck, like I’d been hit over the head by a ten-ton hammer, by how _similar_ they were. How had I ever managed to overlook it in the first place? 

Sighing heavily, Zach refused to be so easily ignored. He shifted, reaching into his pocket and drawing something out. Even without looking at him, I knew what it was. Still, I finally shifted to face him and found my suspicions confirmed. He’d brought along the letter I’d sent him last night. 

“What the hell is this?” he finally demanded, speaking for the first time. Shaking the envelope for emphasis, he said, “Anything you can say to explain this to me? You send me a random three-sentence letter in the middle of the evening talking about - you’ve had enough experience from one date? And that you don’t need to go on anymore with me? Not just that, but I shouldn’t come by your house anymore?”

Wincing in the face of his exasperation and - _hurt,_ he sounded so hurt by my words - that I wanted to apologise. I wanted to apologise but I didn’t because apologising would be like the same as glossing it all over. And I wasn’t ready for that, I wasn’t ready to actually address the nature of my emotions for him. Quietly, looking into Zacharias’s expectant eyes, I admitted, “It didn’t sound so bad in my head.”

“This sounded _good_ in your head?” Incredulously he scoffed, but I did nothing but hold his eyes. Any words I offered him would be picked apart until he got to the truth I was trying to hide from him. “Your job revolves around words and this sounded good in your head?”

“Well it must have or else I wouldn’t have sent it in the first place.” 

“Don’t get smart on me, Abbasi.” He sighed again and before I could point out that he was sighing a lot, he tossed the letter aside so it landed on the coffee table. Crossing his arms, his eyes narrowed a little like he was considering me. Likely he was. Zach was probably turning me over in his head, trying to work out if there was something obviously wrong with me that he could pick out without having to coax it out of me with any questions. 

“Zach?” I prompted, a little fearful that he would actually find something. 

He leaned towards me, asking, “Feel like telling me the truth yet?” 

Searching his eyes and unable to hold his gaze, I insisted softly, “I am telling you the truth.”

“Bullshit.” Before I could protest or even try to defend myself, Zach’s hands came out to hold onto my arms. 

Gently and insistently, he drew me across the sofa towards him until I was right beside him, his kneecaps resting gently against the length of my thigh. Surprised by our sudden proximity, I looked at him with wide eyes. My brain, which was always occupied with words rang empty and for the first time, I couldn’t string together a single sentence. I wasn’t used to it, or even to the way my heart felt like it was threatening out of my chest. For the first time, I could understand why some people were scared of loving someone too much - if this even was love. If this wasn’t love, and I already felt so overwhelmed, how would I survive anything else?

Clearing my throat, I drew my hands away from him, shifting away and putting some space between us. Zach’s eyes followed me, narrowing in the face of my hesitance. Unable to look him in the eye, I stood up, pretending to brush some lint off of my pyjama trousers. 

“I made some muffins last night - do you want some?”

“You’re running away,” he said knowingly behind me, but I didn’t bother to respond to him. I didn’t have anything I could say, either. 

* * *

The further I progressed in the creative process of writing my new book, the more time I found myself spending in the study and the more my study was beginning to look like what Zacharias referred to as my hermit hole. Merlin, I was thinking of him again. Shaking my head as if it would physically remove the thought of him, I leaned back in my chair. Stretching my arms above my head, I surveyed the space around me and frowned at the papers that were littering the floor and every surface. Perhaps I was getting too lost in the process. 

Rolling myself back to my desk, I picked up my quill and finished up my first draft of the second chapter by writing down the final sentence. I waited until the ink had dried before collating all the pieces of paper that made up the entirety of the chapter. Making sure they were all in the correct order, I secured them together with a paperclip and then stashed it away securely in the drawer where the first draft of the first chapter was waiting for its companion. Dusting my hands together, I stood from the chair and tucked it under the desk.

Making my way around the room, I gathered all the discarded pieces of parchment until my arms were overflowing. Dumping the papers onto the desk, I reached down and lifted the bin from the floor and emptied it out as well. Piece by piece, I went through each one, double-checking that I did intend to throw the parchment away and that I wasn’t risking throwing away what could possibly be a good idea. Eventually, I wound up with two piles. The significantly larger pile was pushed into the bin which I proceeded to clear out. The second pile, made up of only a few pieces of paper, was sorted through and each was assigned its own place, whether that was being glued into the idea notebook, or being pinned to the plot map that covered one of my walls or even the original mindmap of my main male character that I had since named Noah. 

Rocking back onto my heels, I considered my study again and wondered what I could work on next. It made sense for me to begin planning or even writing the third chapter and yet, there was a particular scene I wanted to write that took place further on in the story. From experience, it worked out better if I wrote the scene whilst I was drawn to it. But before I began, I wanted a bit of a break.

Leaving my study, I walked into the kitchen and reheated last night’s leftovers for lunch. Making myself a drink and setting the glass and plate on a tray, I carried it into the study. Only to almost drop it from between my hands. 

“Salazar’s soul,” I cursed, clutching at the tray upon spying Zacharias sitting on my chair. Merlin, I _knew_ letting him into my study just once would bring trouble for me. Walking into the room, I set the tray down onto the table and looked at the parchment he’d been studying. It was a piece of the plot, a crucial piece and I snatched it out of his hands. Giving him a narrow-eyed glare, I walked towards my plot map and complained, “What the hell are you even doing here?”

“Clearly I was waiting for you.” After securing the paper he’d stolen back onto the wall, I shot him a look from over my shoulder. I contemplated going to his side but, worried that I’d do something and make a fool of myself, I rested my back against the wall, waiting. “You haven’t left your flat in 2 weeks.”

_“And?”_

“And,” he said, obnoxiously picking up my fork and helping himself to my food. Unable to stop myself, I smiled affectionately at the typically Zacharias action. “I’m here to bug you until you let me take you out for some air.”

“I can’t.” Even when he shook his head and prepared to speak again, I insisted, “I’m in the middle of my most productive writing period I’ve had in a _long_ time and I want to get as much done as I can. Who knows how long it’ll be before writer’s block strikes again.” 

“I’m all for you making progress,” Zacharias insisted, rolling his eyes as he reached behind him to pick another piece of parchment from my desk. He was always such a nosy twat and would always wind up ruining the story for himself for when he got round to reading the book after it had been published. When he inevitably spoiled the story, it wouldn’t be my fault. I’d warned him against reading _any_ of the parchment that was in my study and yet he still did it. Eyes on the parchment held in his hand, Zacharias continued, “I want you to make progress Abbasi, but I do _not_ want you to become a hermit again.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with you.”

He would have given me a smartmouthed remark, had he not been busy considering whatever was written on the paper. I rocked slightly on my heels, wanting to walk over to him and see just what part of my story had captivated his attention or caused the deep furrow between his brows. But I remained where I was, planting my feet firmly to my spot and wondering just when that furrow, that sign of his concentration, had become something so endearing to me. 

“Abbasi?” He started curiously, and knowing he was likely to ask me about a plot point I had yet to work out, I just made a sound of acknowledgement. Lifting his eyes from the paper, he held my gaze as he asked, “This male character - he sounds an _awful_ lot like me.”

I started, pushing away from the wall and rushing towards him. Ignoring the teasing smile at his lips and even the way it faded slightly in the face of my urgency, I snatched the paper away from him. My eyes raked over it and I despaired - it was the old mindmap. The one I could not bring myself to throw away. 

“Oh _Merlin_ ,” I groaned under my breath, clutching the paper against my chest and thinking quickly about what to do. He was teasing, he didn’t think it was anything serious and yet, it was my greatest nightmare come to life. 

Pushing the chair away from the desk, and Zacharias with it, I shoved the mind map into a drawer and locked it shut. I turned back to him, all my excuses dying on my lips when I realised Zach had stood and was standing _right_ behind me. Stumbling back, I found the desk pressing against the back of my thighs as I held Zacharias’s eyes. They were alight with mischief the way I was certain mine were full of worry. 

“If this love interest is based on me,” Zacharias spoke before I could say anything in explanation, his arms coming around on either side of me, cradling me there and keeping me there, “does this mean I can sue you for using me without even asking?” 

“Zacharias,” his name came out warbled, like I was going to burst into tears in the next moment. And maybe I would, because my mind was running a mile a minute. It had jumped to a conclusion where I lost him, where he was unable to look at me or even tolerate me anymore because of my feelings. And if I lost him, what was I going to do? How was I going to cope?

“Hey - _hey_.” His voice was _so soft_ and he ducked his head, trying to catch my lowered eyes. But I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. Instead, I just shook my head, closing my eyes and willing myself to get a grip. “Abbasi -”

“I’ll change it,” I promised, pushing at his chest and drawing in a deep breath when my voice cracked on the last word. 

He tried to speak over me, to try and get me to at least listen to what he was saying but I paid him no heed. Merlin, I wasn’t certain I could hear him say anything over the blood pounding in my ears. It was too much - I just needed some time, time to think and to think of how we could move on. How I could assure Zacharias it meant nothing. Because, even if he thought it meant nothing at first, my reaction would be all he needed to realise that it _did_ mean something. It meant an awful lot. 

“Just go,” I insisted, pushing at him and refusing to listen when he called my name. “ _Please_.”

“Alright.” I finally stopped pushing then, just standing in front of the fireplace and unable to lift my eyes from the floor. There was a long pause and I waited for him to say something or for the sound of the floo activating. Instead, he reached out, just brushing a hand soothingly over the top of my head. “If it helps you calm down, I’ll leave for now.”

“... Thank you.” 

* * *

I could never be sure how meetings with my publishers would go. Usually, they were busy rushing me to publish the next book or they were disappointed that I wanted to push back the tentative finishing date we’d arranged together after I’d announced to them my interest in writing the new book. And especially since I was considering switching publishers after the publication of my next book, I was expecting some hostility or some attempts to keep me on board. My presence had been met with a strange mixture of both and regardless of how many promises they made about offering me more support or giving me the creative freedom of making more choices regarding advertising, I would not be convinced. And, when the meeting drew to a close and I was on my way home, I felt accomplished. Of course, I still had my book to finish, but I’d alleviated a large burden from my chest. 

My relief was so great that I was humming under my breath as I made it home. Unlocking my door, I walked inside and locked it behind me. Shrugging out of my coat and hanging it on the coat rack, I continued to hum under my breath and planned to head right to my study only to scream in surprise at the sight of the man sitting and waiting for me on the sofa. Zacharias, who I hadn’t seen since our last awkward encounter, reacted to my scream with mild alarm, rising to his feet and preparing to approach me.

I halted his approach with an outstretched hand before pressing it against my chest. I could feel my heart thumping against my palm. “You have _got_ to stop turning up announced. One day you’re going to give me a heart attack.” When Zacharias said nothing and instead continued to just watch me, I put my hand on my hips and demanded, “How would you like it if I turned up announced at your home? Waiting for who knows how long until you get back?”

“I’d welcome it,” he said with a shrug. “It would make me feel like everything is less one-sided.” 

“One-sided?” I repeated with a murmur before shaking my head determinedly. The last thing I wanted was to get drawn into a conversation with Zach when it felt like this was going to lead to remarks about our last interaction. Before he could say a thing, I said hurriedly, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to compile a list of potential publishers.”

Walking around the outskirts of the room, giving Zacharias a wide berth, I started to walk around him. My paces were long and quick, looking completely unnatural but I didn’t care. To my annoyance, I heard his footsteps follow faithfully after mine. Making it to my study, I took my seat and reached for my notebook. Flicking to the page where I’d made a preliminary list of publishers who had expressed interest in working with me, I wondered which of them I would arrange the first meeting with. 

Zacharias called my name and I stilled for a moment before forcing myself to spin around in my chair, wanting to appear casual. Even when this felt anything but. I found him standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and watching me with unguarded eyes. I didn’t dare hold his gaze for long, not when it felt like his eyes were peering right into my soul. With forced composure, I gestured for him to talk as I spun around once more to face my desk and pretended to consult the list once more. In reality, it didn’t hold my attention. Not at all.

“Do you think we can talk about this now?”

Despite knowing what he wanted to discuss, I gave him the opportunity to be kind and evade the topic like I so clearly wanted. “About what?”

“Your book,” he said so pointedly, not humouring me or giving me the chance to play obtuse. For a long moment, I didn’t say anything. I just continued to fidget with the corner of the page, scouring a line into the corner with the nail of my thumb. “About the - ”

“Don’t worry,” I started quickly, “I changed the character. The mind map you saw was the first version of him and I wound up changing him anyway because he was - because he was too much like you. So it’s nothing really. You don’t need to worry about it at all - ”

“You didn’t need to do that,” he said insistently, his voice sounding closer to me than it had done previously. Still, I didn’t look at him to see where he was. And it was this reluctance to look at him that had me startling when his hand came to rest on the table at my side. He was suddenly so close to me and even though I didn’t want to look at him, I was made to do so. Lifting my chin, Zach searched my eyes as he said one more, “You don’t need to do that.” 

“I did it anyway,” I said softly, looking up into his eyes and unable to look away. If you knew what to look for, then Zacharias’s eyes were the most expressive part of his face. And over the years, I’d learnt what to look for. It was why I could read the eager anticipation waiting there for me. 

“Why was he modelled after me in the first place?”

It was a question I’d anticipated being asked multiple times and each time, I’d formulated an answer in my head. Each answer was a lie and I knew he would buy none of them, not at first. But if I spoke quick enough, I’d manage to bluff my way into getting him to believe me. And yet, now that I was presented with the question, none of those answers sprung to mind or even seemed adequate. I could write the most eloquent sentences and yet, I couldn’t string together a simple answer for a question. 

But, it seemed, perhaps I didn’t _have_ to answer Zach. Not when he lifted my chin even further, making me strain towards him. He lowered his own head, eyes flickering between my own as he closed the space between us. My eyes, suddenly far heavier than they’d ever been, fell shut of their own accord, in anticipation of a kiss that would send my heart into meltdown. It didn’t come. 

Opening my eyes, I considered Zach whose face remained closer to me than it had ever been before. Even as I cursed internally for getting ahead of myself, I drew in a muted breath when he asked, in the barest of whispers and unable to look away from my lips, “Can I kiss you, Abbasi? I’ve been dying to do it since sixth year.”

_Merlin, I was melting._

“Yes.” I didn’t have the strength for it to be more than a whisper. 

And then there was no need for any more words. Closing the remaining distance between us, Zacharias kissed me so softly and like I was so _precious_ that my hands reached out, fisting his jumper and keeping him close. I was giddy and I knew that when we drew away, I’d be smiling like a fool. But, I got the clearest realisation that this was why characters in high stake fantasies risked everything - for this. For the single feeling of being the most important person to someone, of being so cherished that they’d do anything to preserve it, just the way it was.

Reluctantly drawing away from Zacharias, I brought my own hands back to my lap. I didn’t move much further away from him and I couldn’t avert my eyes from Zacharias’s whose own had softened and were looking at me like I was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.

“You of all people should know,” he started, determinedly, “that I’m not one to make a half-hearted offer.”

Clearly, his kiss had rendered me stupid. “Huh?”

“I wouldn’t have offered to take you on dates if I didn’t really want to,” he said simply. He lifted my chin up again, dropping down to press a kiss to my nose, to both cheeks, my forehead, chin, my eyelids and then hovered teasingly over my mouth. His warm breath brushed against my skin as he teased, “Feel free to pop this into the book.”

Laughing, I smacked his chest, all my protests fleeing when he finally pulled me into him and gave me another kiss. 


	2. Epilogue: 10 Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing wasn’t the same as many other jobs.

_10 YEARS LATER_

Writing wasn’t the same as many other jobs. You didn’t necessarily get better at it the longer you kept writing. Rather, writer’s block affected you in much the same way regardless of whether you had one year worth of writing experience or a decade’s worth of writing experience. Those who said that writers developed their own ways of combating it were lying. Or rather, that didn’t apply to me. I continued to struggle about it. And it was a noble struggle, one of a writer trying to hone their craft.

Of course, just because it was a _noble_ struggle, didn’t mean that I struggled alone. No, Zacharias who had willingly bound himself to me listened to all my groaning and complaining with a patience that always surprised me. Just when I thought I’d pushed him to the boundary of his patience, he breathed out deeply, took five minutes away from me and returned with a cup of tea for me and offered to act as a blank soundboard for me to bounce ideas off of.

This time, however, after what felt like months worth of writer’s block, Zacharias insisted that I needed a change of scenery. I’d insisted that it wasn’t a change of scenery I needed, but likely sleep. Maybe I just needed a good night’s sleep because Salazar knew, having a four-month-old in the house who refused to drink from a bottle would ruin anyone’s night’s worth of sleep. I was certain that I’d never gotten more than 3 hours of sleep since I’d birthed our daughter. He’d just insisted that it was all the more reason to allow him to whisk me away from our home. I was too tired to disagree with him.

So, when the weekend came, I allowed Zacharias to bundle me into my fluffy coat and apparate us somewhere into the middle of the countryside. The cottage that he’d rented out for the weekend was beautiful - small and quaint and the one where we’d honeymooned almost five years ago now. It had lingered in my mind, leaving such a lasting impression in my head, that I’d based the home of one of my heroines from the memory of it. Ushering me inside with one arm around my waist and the other holding onto our bags, Zacharias said little as we reached the threshold. Walking inside and searching the hallway, I couldn’t help but smile at the gentle peace that enveloped me; it felt almost like the cottage was saying welcome back. 

“Go and relax,” Zach said from behind me, setting our bags down. When I glanced curiously at him, he gestured for me to take the stairs up to the second floor, “It’s the middle of the night now and we might as well sleep before tomorrow’s plans.”

“We have plans tomorrow?” I asked, curling my hand around the familiar bannister of the stairs. The wood, smooth under my fingers, was cool to touch. “I thought we were here to relax.”

“We are,” he assured me but gestured me up again. “But we’re also going on a five mile-long walk tomorrow morning.”

Scrunching my nose in distaste and knowing I could likely talk him out of it when morning arrived, I alighted the stairs. Reaching the landing, I lingered for a moment, just long enough to remember my way to the master bedroom. When I reached the bedroom, I found that Zach had the sense to send our bags up before us. Gathering everything I needed, I ran a bubble bath for myself and sank into the hot water. Closing my eyes, I groaned out and let the water soothe my muscles. Only after giving birth to our daughter did I realise what a luxury it was to be able to soak in the bath - when there was a four month crying because she was hungry, there was little time to relax. 

I remained until my fingers and toes grew pruney and then set about washing my body and hair. Draining the tub, I dried my body and towel-dried my hair until it was just slightly damp. Forgoing the pyjamas, I slipped into my robe and knotted it tightly at my waist. Making my way back to the main bedroom, I found Zach waiting expectantly on the bed with his legs crossed. I wanted to tease him for his eagerness, but I didn’t. I had too large a concern on my mind. 

Lingering in the doorway and knowing that if I got close enough, he would reach for me, I asked, “Do you think your parents will be alright looking after Anna?”

“Of course they will be.” He patted the space in front of him, frowning when I didn’t move. “They’ve got far more experience than we have.”

“But she refuses to take the bottle,” I insisted, taking slow steps towards Zacharias. I was right, he caught my hand the moment I was close enough.

Using his hold on me, he tugged me down until I was sprawled beside him. He smiled softly, his hand coming up to cradle my face and rubbing softly over where I knew the bags under my eyes were. Gently, he reminded me, “She takes the bottle when it’s my dad feeding her. Apparently, when we get back, he’s going to teach me the secret so you’ll get more sleep.”

“Salazar, I hope so.”

Zacharias leaned in to kiss me then, just once before he drew back, listening out for a distant cry. Somehow Anna had the knack of knowing when we wanted to spend some time together and would always, _always_ cry. This time, there was no such cry, and Zacharias grinned, leaning in to kiss me again. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I drew him closer to me and felt my body begin to lose itself in him. Because the truth of the matter was, I’d never needed this sort of break to relax and to clear my head. All I’d actually needed was time with Zacharias, to let myself be as carefree as he always made me feel.

Groaning under his breath, Zach’s hand reached for the tie of my robe, and just as it was coming undone, I drew back with a gasp, pushing at his chest with so much force he fell onto his back. Something had fallen into place. He was sitting up in an instant, looking at me with wide eyes even as he started apologetically, “I didn’t know you weren’t ready yet and -”

“It’s not that,” I assured him, knowing I sounded a bit manic as I retied the knot at my waist. 

Scrambling from the bed, I clambered to my bag in the corner of the room. From behind me, I heard Zach question aloud how I’d become so apathetic to him and I didn’t have it in me to deal with his melodrama. I was too busy rifling through the notebook I was using to plan my newest project and finding my travel quill, I scribbled down the plot point that had come into my head. It was everything I’d needed - it was enough to remove the plot hole that had been bugging me for so long.

“ _Really_?” Zacharias grumbled from behind me. I paused my writing, peering over my shoulder to watch as he rubbed his hands over his face. 

Biting my lower lip, I said softly, “Sorry - but if it helps, you distracted me enough for the idea to organically come into my mind?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved his hand dismissively, falling onto his back. Propping his head up with his hand, Zacharias reminded me, “I’ll just be here, waiting for you to remember I exist once you’ve written it all down.”

I answered him by blowing him a kiss and turned back to finish making notes before I forgot what I’d just thought up. But, before I did, I caught him catching the kiss in his hand. 


End file.
